Those Cold Nights
by InsideTheFangirlsHead
Summary: She loved Bruce, he'd seen her when she was most vulnerable, he'd been witness to her feeling and emotions, she'd taken a risk and let her hard frontier melt away. Then she lost him, he left. "I don't want to harm you," He wrote, "I don't -god forbid- want to put you at risk of death. I love you. Please remember that, for me."
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own the Avengers :)**

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Bruce could see very well in the dark. It was one of the odd after effects or the radiation. He could see the small details in the room usually lost in the dark; the Russian characters on the cover of Natasha's novel. The slim holes in the closet door from when Natasha threw her knives at it for target practice. The hinges on Bruce's glasses case, the little teeth on the zipper of Bruce's full backpack. He saw the tape holding the gauze onto Natasha's injured arm.

It had been a simple mission-a rather large group of mortal terrorists, no aliens or special powers to contend with- but obviously the simplest mission would yield the worst results. Nobody on the team was killed, but one floor up Clint "Hawkeye" Barton was sleeping fitfully while his left arm and leg were encased in plaster and his ribs tightly bandaged.

He had been so focused on Natasha -_don't harm Natasha, keep her safe,she loves you don't let her down_- that the others had slipped through. Luckily, Hawkeye's cry of pain had triggered something and The Hulk's grip around the mans torso slackened, but the damage to the ribs had been done. The fractures in the arm and leg were caused by The Hulk abruptly letting him go, from one extreme to another. Clint fell onto the jagged and uneven debris. It was very soon after that the mission had been completed. Fortunate, because it saved Clint from further danger, but unfortunate because Bruce was able to see the immediate after effects of The Hulks actions.

He felt responsible. The last few days he had been assured that nobody held it against him _'these things happen,'_ had been a common phrase from everybody except Natasha. She had said _'we're not mad at you.' _No matter how similar those two things sounded they were drastically different. You can still be furious even if _'these things happen.'_ but _'we're not mad'_ meant that no matter how frequently said event happened you weren't mad. But no matter how many times she said it, it wasn't helping.

In the dark he saw the subtle change in Natasha's breathing as she woke up. Her hand splayed out across the bed to where Bruce would normally be present.

She turned to face him, her eyes opening lazily as she zoned in on him.

"Bruce," she whispered, "What are you doing?"

He snaked his hand down to the doorknob of the bathroom door.

"Just going to the bathroom, I had a lot of tea. Go back to sleep." he twists the knob and enters the already lit bathroom. He closes the door and waits in silence, he hears the springs in the bed squeak as she lays back down, unsuspecting of anything.

He heaves a guilty sigh looking to the counter where his letter to her is laid. He could recite the letter on command, it was engraved into his mind because of all the effort he'd put into it. It was just a simple sheet of notebook paper with his cramped writing on it, nothing special except the message.

_Natasha,_

_This is not a suicide note, seeing as the choice of suicide isn't an option. But even though I'm still alive, you cannot go looking for me. _Please.

_I know you have the means and could track me down in a day, you could come find me but I ask that you don't try. Don't ask SHEILD, don't ask Tony, don't even try yourself. You can't be around me._

_Don't tell the team at least not right away. Let them warm up to the idea of not having me around. They might find they enjoy it without me, no time bomb to defuse. _

_You can't be too surprised that I left. You know now I can't be around people who care about me, you see it doesn't work. You're smart, you'll realize it's for the best._

_You're smart, Natalia Romanova, you're beautiful, strong, wonderful and loyal. I however, beg you to let your loyalty take a backseat and forget about me. _

_There's one thing you can't forget though. Maybe you'll forget that I asked you not to find me. Maybe you'll forget that I asked you to not tell the team. But don't forget what I'm about to say, don't ever. _

_Please remember that I love you, i love you with all my heart. If you remember that you'll understand why you shouldn't see me. It won't hurt as much for me if -even though I can't see you, or touch you or kiss you- I know your safe. When you're around me your not safe Natasha, and that fact was highlighted with what happened to Clint;he's lucky he wasn't killed. It could have been you. I don't want to harm you, I don't -god forbid- want to put you at risk of death._

_ I love you. Please remember that, for me._

_Bruce Banner_

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**Now, I am continuing this. I think I'll update weekly if I'm not pressured to update more frequently. But I did just get hired so if I'm working a lot...But as soon as possible I promise, because everything is written and )thisclose( to being 100% completely edited. **

**I promise a roller coaster for your feels. Mwahahahahahahahahahahahaha.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I had some spare time so i decided to edit this chappie and post it! Here's a nice long chapter for you all :)**

**I don't own the Avengers.**

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Natasha had slept soundly despite being woken up by Bruce walking to the bathroom. As soon as he'd closed the door, her head hit the pillow and she was out like a light. She'd awoken with sun seeping through the space between the curtains- which in itself was odd because she was usually awake before the sun was up. But none the less she was awake and ready to face the day.

But not this day, never this day. Never had she wanted to live out this day.

_I love you. Please remember that, for me._

_Bruce Banner._

The hollow sadness and aggravation was similar to the time she'd lost sight of her target on a mission. But this was one thousand times worse. She didn't particularly care for her target, she didn't love them. She loved Bruce, he'd seen her most vulnerable. He'd been witness to her feeling and emotions, she'd taken a risk and let her hard frontier melt away. Then she lost him, he left. Right under her nose.

Natasha's hands shook, they both gripped the paper tightly. The pressure was warping the paper around her fingers. Her eyes flitted back and forth trying to make sense of what she'd categorized as bullshit.

_Safe?_ _Out of harms way?_ Where we're his reasons based? She was and assassin, a member of SHEILD. She had never been safe and never would be. If anything she'd been more careful with herself with Bruce around. Knowing her life had value to other people. She wasn't just a pawn, who, if she was killed on duty could just be replaced by another pawn. He made her human, made her feel like there was something under her harsh exterior.

Now it was gone.

Snapping out of it, Natasha turned and stormed out the bathroom door. She dropped to the floor, not in heartbreak, but in determination. She lifted up the bed skirt to reveal an empty black duffle bag. As she threw it onto the bed, a knock reverberated through her door. But Natasha had the blinders on, and had no plans of getting the door. She never would have found out who it was if the knocker hadn't opened the door.

"Hey, lovebirds! Get up!" Tony just barely missed being impaled by Natasha's unscented deodorant.

"Bruce isn't _here_." she snapped as her deodorant smacked against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Straightening up, Tony wore a look of mild confusion. But he was more than just mildly confused. "He left." She states.

"_Left?!_" he asks, walking into the room and closing the door. Eerily calm, Natasha hands him the letter.

It's a quick scan, nothing probing. He just needed the information, he doesn't read between the lines. He doesn't even make a comment about the 'I love you"s at the end. He just hands it back to her and sticks his hands in his jean pockets, a cocky smile in his face.

"I suspect you want a favour then?" He raises an eyebrow. Natasha knows what he's talking about; hacking the SHEILD files to find Bruce's location.

"I wouldn't call it a favour, Stark," she says, grabbing the gun from between her mattress and throwing in her bag. "Since you want to find out where he is just like I do, and just like the team will the moment they find out. Also because a favour would involve me asking, and I don't ask. Not with you anyway." she gave an amused smirk to the billionaire, who gulped.

"I see you're packed so I'll get his location. I'll tell Steve, I suppose you'll want to tell the flightless bird?" Tony turned to open the door.

"Yes please. And don't call him that!" she snapped. Tony walked to her deodorant and picked it up.

"I call 'em like I see 'em, Natalie." he hands her the deodorant. As he walks away Natasha thinks she sees something in his gaze. Empathy? Sadness? Of course though, Tony was Bruce's closet friend aside from Natasha. Tony was probably hurt as well.

She threw the brush into her bag and zipped it up, finishing her packing.

Twenty minutes later, after a quick shower then dressing into airplane appropriate attire she made her way up to Clint's room with a large cup of coffee and some breakfast.

"You look nice," was the first thing he said as she pushes his door open with her foot. Clint was on bed rest until the next week, so his attire was boxer shorts and a casual NYC T-shirt. His bandages ribs where hidden, but his casts were well displayed against his black bedspread.

"I brought breakfast." she said, handing him the toast, eggs and coffee. The tray fit over the tops of his thighs, he gave the food a quick look then looked back at her.

"Why the fancy attire? At this early in the day?" he took a sip of his coffee.

"I'm leaving," she said simply

"What?" Clint's eyes went wide, a look of panic on his face. "What about-"

"Bruce left -ran away- last night. I'm going to get him as soon as Tony comes back with where he's heading." her voice was icy, stable. Which meant she was not okay. Clint moved the tray with his usable arm the opened it up, offering Natasha a hug. She took it.

Sitting down on the bed she leaned into him. Happy when his arm wrapped around her and squeezed her tighter. Natasha let one tear slip from the corner of her eye. Just one, she wasn't one for putting on the waterworks. Clint felt the tear slip onto his T-shirt.

"Hey, now," he sighed, "He only left last night, meaning whatever flight you get to follow him will most likely be the one right after his. He won't be too far ahead of you. And you're the tantalizing _Natasha Romanoff_. You got him into the Avengers. I think you can do this."

"What if he won't?" she asks, letting a bit of her doubt out.

"You're not going to think like that." Clint, says, a tad harsher than he meant. "I won't let you. Now go," she sits up, agreeing with him. "I'm not allowing you to be a girl who weeps about a man leaving her. You're going to be the one who goes, finds him and kicks his ass for leaving. And then make up. That's the game plan got it?"

"Got it," she laughs shakily, grateful for Clint's talent to make dire situations a little less depressing.

Natasha left by herself, walking a couple of blocks before hailing a cab to take her to the airport. She could have asked Happy. But she felt better being in a car with somebody who didn't actually know a damn thing about her. The very young looking cab driver just asked her where to and keeping the hostility out of her voice she told him where.

"Usually trips require more luggage" he said, nodding towards her bag as he pulled into traffic.

"I pack light." she snaps, letting the cabby know she's not in the mood to talk. He doesn't make anther sound until they reach the airport.

"Aw, look at that," he laughs. He'd pulled in just behind a very adorned car. _"Just Married," _was painted along its back window, and streamers were amazingly still attached. Natasha glares at the car and the happy couple emerging from it. The cabby ignores the glare, asks for the money and as she hands it to him he says "We can only hope to be ask lucky, right?" referring to the couple. She doesn't respond, only picking her bag up and leaving the car. His "have a nice day" being lost in the car door slamming.

Natasha would be lying if she said that the cabby hadn't struck a nerve. All through getting her ticket and going through security- she had left her gun back at the tower, it hadn't felt right to bring it- she had her jaw clenched and gave anybody who looked at her a death glare.

Boarding the plane, she realized she owed Tony a bit more. It was first class, but also that one really out of place seat in the back. You were the only one in the row, and nobody was behind you. You could plug earphones in and it was virtually irritate proof. But Natasha had no earphones, but she was hostile-looking enough that nobody except the flight attendants would speak to her. So she was left alone with her thoughts. And her thoughts were Bruce.

He just left. Right under her nose. Just after she fell back asleep, he could have kissed her. She could of had that. But maybe he couldn't even stand to do that.

Did he hate her now? No, _I love you, remember that, _that's what he said he loved her. That's why he was gone. She loved Bruce, that's why she was on a quest to get him back.

She wasn't deluding herself when she'd daydream about what could be. They could get married. Bruce could get down on one knee and ask her to marry him. She would say yes, of course. She could have a dress. They could have a future. SHIELD didn't have any rules against it. They didn't have rules against children either. They could have kids, a family, if they wanted to. She'd be lying if she said she'd never thought about a future with Bruce. It had been possible at the time. _Now, _Natasha thought, gazing out the window, _not so much. _

She thought about how it felt when he held her in his arms at night, or when they watched a team movie. Or even when she was drinking tea in the morning and he'd come up behind her and wrap his arms around her. He was soft, but he had muscle. It was a comforting feeling, the skin on skin. The way he would trace patterns up her arms and kiss her neck drove her crazy. Holding his hand was like and anchor, keeping her close and reminding her she was loved. She missed his kisses, soft, but full of passion. His lips, slightly chapped, against her smooth ones was a feeling she couldn't forget. He'd always been there to kiss her, hold her hand, hold her close as she slept. But now she was traveling half way around the world just to see his face.

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**Here you go, guys! 'Nother chapter, let me know what you though with a review :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's a new chapter. A short one, but still, a chapter.I'm most likely not going to be able to post this weekend so I'm posting now.**

**I don't own the Avengers,btw.**

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A shack sitting on the outskirts of Indian Slums wasn't exactly the same as living in Stark Tower;for obvious reasons. Not like Bruce had much time to complain. He'd placed his bags by the dusty and neglected bed, then a boy, no older than fourteen had burst through the door. He'd been jabbering about a young girl-his sister- dangerously feverish and unable to stop coughing. Bruce would never have wished this on the girl, but this was just what he needed: a had rushed over, it was a big family that waited for him, the girl, a tiny, tiny thing, constantly being wracked by coughs. He'd managed to subdue the couching, then he promised to return the next day to check on the fever. He'd left the house, a rapid chorus of '_thank you'_s behind him.

The walk back seemed longer, mostly because he was now left alone with his thoughts _Natasha.._NO! he thought. _Don't think about her, don't you dare. Or you'll be on the next plane back to New York. _Bruce continued to walk, focusing on his shoes as they hit the compact dirt. _Right, left,right,left, right. _Bruce focused on each motion, each roll of his neck, anything but Natasha. _Now, open the door. _Stepping inside he shakes his head, as if ridding himself of poisonous thoughts. The room is dark. Odd, since its very early in the evening and he hadn't closed the shutters before he left. That must have meant...

Bruce doesn't jump when he hears her voice. He just turns to face her, she is sitting on his bed, knees curled up to he chest and chin resting in the gap between her knees. It's a warm night, with a soupy wind blowing through the rickety boards of the shack.

"I feel as of we've been in this situation before." Bruce says, breaking the thick silence. The door swings shut behind him.

"I think the circumstances have changed Bruce," she says in a monotone getting up from the bed. She walks across the floor, her sandals clapping against the floor. Bruce is still, cold, she's making leaving a lot harder than it should be.

"I told you," Bruce says "not to follow me". He doesn't snap, he doesn't yell. He just kind of sighs, like he knew this would happen. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets. Natasha's hands grip her forearms in a kind of lonely hug, as if she's holding herself together. But her gaze is sharp, like a knife.

"What else did you say?" she asks him, pleading with him to get the words she most wants to hear out of his mouth. He looks away for a brief moment, knowing what she wants to hear, but not wanting to let her hear it.

"I told you not to tell the team." he sighs, "I suppose they know you're here though."

"That's not what I meant and you know it Bruce." her accusation was harsh in the beginning, but as Bruce's name left her lips it was softer, a plead for attention. She steps closer, only a centimeter between them.

"Don't!" he snaps, quickly stepping back. "Please don't come any closer." _because if you come any closer I don't think I'll be able to help myself._ He wants to say. But he doesn't. _Because if you come any closer, I'll have no choice but to kiss you. No choice but to go back with you to New York. No choice but to live the rest of my life with you. And all the time, selfishly putting you at risk for my own enjoyment._

A burning sensation starts behind Natasha's eyes. Tears, but they're not spilling over, she's not going to let him see them.

Ignoring his warning, she advances,

"You said: Don't forget; I love you." physically, there's only an inch between them. But one of them might as well be dead.

"I do love you." he says, looking her in the eye.

"Prove it."

Every fiber of Bruce's being is telling him to hold Natasha close, wrap his fingers in her hair and kiss her. Trace patterns down her arms, whisper secrets in her ear, pour every emotion he's ever felt about her into one touch. He almost does, he raises his hand to cup her cheek, he sees her eyes light up with hope, and her own hand goes up to cover his. But that contact is all she gets.

"I am proving it. I love you so much." he says, voice cracking. "That... I can't even stand to be around you."

Natasha drops her hand to her side. The flicker of hope gone into her now very dark and gloomy eyes. Bruce traces one last line with the pad of his thumb before putting his hand back in his pocket.

"I'll go then." she whispers, looking down to the floor, watching her feet as she steps away from him.

"Thank you." he says with a very curt tone as he steps aside to allow her access to the door.

The slim door closes behind her as she steps out into cool night air. There's still a burning in her eyes. But she can't cry, as if all the emotions are bottled up inside her and she's to hurt to even cry or scream or even go back in there and tell him that staying away from him will hurt her more than any gunshot, broken bone or torn mussel ever would. But she does not, she walks away from the house, through the busy streets where people mingle about, content with there lives. Back in the hotel, she picks up her phone to send a message to Clint.

_I'm leaving in an hour. _

His reply is instant.

_Just you?_

Her response is short, but the shaking fingers make it hard to type.

_Only me._

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**From the sound of your reviews, it sounds as if you're enjoying this story. Anybody care to review to say you're still enjoying this story?**


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is a little more team-centric than the others. Also, we look back at a failed attempted by Clint to make Clintasha canon.**

**I own none of this.**

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Natasha felt haunted. Bruce's hurtful words echoing inside her head. Shadows of what she's had with Bruce were everywhere; the morning she'd returned she'd open the cupboard to be face to face with Bruce's arsenal of teas. She'd slammed the door shut and avoided tea until Steve emptied it upon Clint's request.

All the men had noted a change. Tony noted that his manhood wasn't threatened as often as it once was. Steve noted that she wasn't as open to their casual conversations as she had been before. The calm and interested tone had turned into one of displeasure and boredom. Every time Steve tried having a conversation with her, her response always made him feel as if she didn't really want him around.

When Thor returned from his visit-a month and a half after Bruce had left, right between a rather solemn Christmas and a dreary looking New Years- even he noticed. But only after the team had broken the news that Bruce had left. He saw that she was more reserved in the group than before, not offering her opinions or jovial threats as often as he recalled. But he wasn't a certain as the others, since he'd just shown up. He wasn't sure if this had been a gradual shift in his absence or a sudden one brought on by Dr. Banner's departure.

He brought up the subject after Natasha retired for the night on his second day in the tower, they all sat in the living area in Stark Tower. They all felt guilty about thinking this, especially Clint: but as soon as Natasha left, the mood in the room brightened considerably. Natasha had taken her dark could of depression to bed with her.

"She seems melancholy, does she not?" Thor took a sip of the hot chocolate Steve had just put down.

Clint, who, much to his joy was out of his casts and was also free to hold a mug and walk around, nodded and sighed. "That's one way to put it."

"She seems depressed." Tony said, strange undertones of concern present.

"Thats another way to put it" Clint said quietly.

"Well of course she is, Stark," Steve said, "She and Bruce were together, then he just got up and left."

Thor shook his head, still not quite certain this man, whom he'd deemed a valuable and dependable teammate had just left. Clint looked around, wondering where this would head.

"But she'll bounce back." Tony proclaimed, the confidence and non- shalance back in his voice. Steve, however much he too believed she'd bounce back, looked to Clint.

They expected him to know. Clint was her closest friend in the building now, the only one she trusted. However, Clint felt very nervous as the remaining members of his team looked at him to deliver a verdict, because, he didn't know. He wasn't sure if bouncing back was an option this time. He'd tried to talk to her, as soon as she was back she came back to his room. He'd tried to talk to her, but she just sat there, looking at him incased in plaster and unable to move. He'd watched her in return, but couldn't get a read on her. Was she mad a him? Was she blaming him for Bruce leaving? He was the one incased in plaster, he was the subject of Bruce's guilt and could therefore be considered his reason for leaving. Bruce had hurt her deeply, he'd never seen her like this, she looked like she'd just lost everything. Was she thinking about her options now?

I'm still an option, Clint thought to himself. He'd told her how he felt years ago, before all this business with The Avengers Initiative. But she hadn't wanted him then. No, she'd said, I couldn't do that. She'd said it as if he'd just asked her if she could take off her head off and still live. She'd answered as if he had just been joking, not a serious question, not something up for serious consideration. He'd been hurt after that and she knew it. Distance seemed to be her solution for everything, even at that time. So she'd become more reserved then, closing herself off to see if that could have shrunk his feelings for her. But it couldn't, so he'd settled for being her best friend, her brother. The was okay with that, as long as he could still be there for her.

Clint saw that she'd started it again, the distancing. It was the subtlest but most problematic change in Natasha over the past few weeks.

She trained more, more punches thrown at the bag and more shots fired at the target until the bang of a gun or solid thwap of leather was just something you were used to hearing. Like your own heartbeat. She'd get up early, go down to the gym an practice flips,kicks and agility until JARVIS told her there was hot coffee upstairs. She didn't interact with anybody by choice, something they guys noticed and respected, all except for Clint, who knew what the distancing could lead to.

"I miss sparring," he'd said, " These cast come off and we're having a match." She warned him to be carful, she didn't want him hurt again. Clint saw right through that though, she just didn't want to give him an opening to talk to her about anything. But Clint had insisted. It was three days after he'd gotten the casts off and four days before Thor had arrived when she finally took him up on the offer..

It had been the typical back and forth for the first third. Then it was just him trying to keep her at bay. He noted the dark red streaks that were the scabs from punching bags whiz by his face. As he moved his torso back in a bend he felt the hard impact of her shins as he took his legs out from under him. Her legs were moving at an insta-bruise force and she was on top of him before he hit the ground.

He gasped as she pressed her forearm against his throat, not enough to make him black out, but enough to make breathing a hindrance. It was a lot more violent and intense than he remembered their sparring sessions to be. He didn't think to much about it since he was having a slight issue breathing.

But as she rotated her neck slightly, forearm still on his windpipe, making her hair move away from her he felt his breath catch a moment.

She looked him in the eyes for just a moment. Her green eyes were dark, flat. There wasn't any humor present in them, it was a cold and hostile look. Her mouth was set in a thin straight line and her forehead was tense with concentration, the look of a predator.

She jumped off him, Clint gasped as his windpipe opened up again. The sudden rush of oxygen to his brain stunning him for a moment. As Natasha walked away he knew he'd seen that look before.

It was in Holland, she was his mark and he was supposed to kill her. She'd always been one step ahead though, and had to ditch the bow and arrow for favor of a more direct approach. She could've killed him right there. But he saw her as something that they could use.

He'd also seen her face. It had looked exactly how she'd just looked a moment ago. Unyielding and ready to throw you down. That was the face of somebody who was assassin through and through.

All the training made sense to him then. He knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to uncover Natasha the machine. Natasha the hunter, Natasha the killer. She was trying to become that stone warrior who didn't feel anything, emotionally or otherwise. She trying to get as far from human as she could get.

Clint looked up from the swirling contents of his mug, which had been thoroughly engrossing as he sifted through his thoughts, trying to decide what answer he would give the rest of the team. "Yeah, she'll bounce back." Clint echoed, Maybe.

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**Like I said, this chapter was more for those people who weren't Natasha or Bruce. Other's would've been affected by this too ;p For those of you waiting to see Bruce... I'd like to tell you. But then why would you read the story?**


	5. Chapter 5

**YAY for posting on my break from studying! I'm posting now because if not I'll forget until its American Thanksgiving. just so you know, I do have one more Chapter left, an Epilogue of sorts.**

**I have no ownership over The Avengers or any Marvel Characters. Damnit**

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Natasha watched as the toothpaste hit the running water and washed down the drain. It was nine thirty and she was about to go to bed. Leaving the male population of the house awake an in control of the house, more or less since JARVIS would make sure Clint or Tony didn't incite anything dangerous.

She only wore boy short style underwear under the long sweater that reached the tops of her thighs. She had the bedroom window open so the cool winter air could make its way through the room.

Sitting down on the bed she looked around, it had been two months and still the room felt like it was missing something. She would've thought having nothing around to trigger memories would have made it easier to try and let go. But whenever she saw just her toothbrush, or just her socks in her drawer, or even when she couldn't smell Bruce's scent mixed in with the detergent on the sheets, it opened up the hole again. At least if you had the stuff there you could imagine whomever you were missing was jut behind a closed door, or out to the store. But when there was nothing left anywhere, sometimes it felt as if it had all been some wonderful dream and she was willing to do anything to go back to sleep.

She was about to pull back the freshly made blankets that smelled only of her when a frantic knock came at the door. She froze for a moment, seeing whether whomever it was would either a) go away or b) come on in. They did neither, but from the other side of the door she heard Steve's voice.

"Natasha? Are you asleep?" then quieter, "Clint said you'd still be awake," Steve sounded very scared and embarrassed, so she got up-tugging the sweater down, for Steve's sake- and opened the door.

Seeing her open the door a smile broke out over his face, but there was still fear there, but for what she wasn't sure. She stood up straight and raised an eyebrow, inviting him to tell her what he had come to say.

"Bruce is downstairs," he was so giddy with excitement, but the following slap shut him up and left him with the look of a kicked puppy-which he basically was. He stared at Natasha for a moment, her nostrils flared in anger. Looking at her eyes, however, she just looked heart-broken and betrayed by his words. It had hardly been his intention, but he suddenly felt a sense of guilt overwhelm him.

She heard the boys laughing downstairs, obviously going on and having a good time, not, as she would have assumed-had hoped- belittling Bruce for daring to get up and leave them. There was nothing serious going on downstairs, only light hearted, alcohol induced humor.

"How dare you!" she hissed, "What kind of joke is this?" Steve's mouth hung open, it moved slightly as he tried to form words. He looked back down the hallway sheepishly, towards where the kitchen would be. Where all the guys were waiting for Steve to come back and tell them how this funny joke went just like guys do.

Only...Steve didn't play pranks, or jokes, he didn't set you up for failure on purpose. He was an overall good person who didn't lie to you, he knew a joke like this would've hurt her. He would never hurt her like that...

"Oh my gosh," she gasped, "Steve, I'm so sorry. Is he actually-?" Steve nods, rubbing the red handprint. She rushed past him and out into the hallway. It's a quick trip down a flight of stairs before she's in the hallway that's a straight shot to the kitchen and giving her a perfect view of four males laughing around the island. Thor, a paper the size of a photo gripped in his hand is standing next to Tony who is laughing while taking a sip of the drink he's holding. Clint sits behind them on the counter, a reserved smile, as if he doesn't really want to find whatever the others a finding funny, funny.

Then Bruce, worn looking and blushing, he's the source of the laughter. His weight is being supported by his hands, which rest on the counter. The only sign that he left is the dirty backpack at his feet. But judging my the camaraderie in the group, it was as if he had never left.

Unless you were Natasha. She had spent the last two months trying to get over this man. Trying to make it seem like this was best, try to heal. Make herself strong. Get herself to a place where being by herself forever was okay and she too could leave the group and be done with all the crap that people bring about. She'd be lying if she said she was close to being healed. If anything the closest she'd come to being healed was accepting the fact that he left. All the effort and strain put into that one thing. And now he was back, to tear her life down again to see what would happen this time.

Bruce picked that moment to turn an see Natasha. She was standing in the dark corner of the hallway but she was there and she walked forward until she was face to face with him, making the conversation in the room stop.

Her nostrils flared and she inhaled, trying to calm herself down.

"I'm going back upstairs." she said cooly, "Don't follow me. I don't have a damn thing to say to you, Doctor Banner." she turns on the group. "I see you've been welcomed back down here with open arms. Might as well stay here where people don't mind your ...flaws."

Is was a low blow, she knew it was. She saw the way her words slapped across Bruce's face. Taking whatever apologetic words he had planned from his mouth. She had taken the words from everybody's mouth. Nobody knew what to say. They guys had thought she'd be happy. They had expected a slow-motion running type thing to take place. Well, everybody but Clint. He had a feeling he knew what was going to happen. He hadn't shared because it would have only made it worse for Nat if the others were there trying tell her to be happy. If the Black Widow wanted to be pissed of, then she would be fucking pissed off. Nobody could change her mind.

Natasha ran straight to her room, hurled herself onto the bed and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come.

She didn't get it.

She didn't get the blissful oblivion that she was hoping for. She didn't fall into the blackness that would make her forget the man downstairs.

When he left, she'd been too heartbroken to even cry. She just shut down, like it wasn't possible. The man keeping her alive and human had left, and her grip on humanity and feelings of love with him. But Bruce was back, standing in the kitchen downstairs. And seeing him there, it woke her up. The human feelings that she'd tried so hard to relieve herself of were crashing down on her in waves. Shock, disbelief, heartbreak, confusion, anger, passion, longing, disappointment, emptiness, hatred.

_Love._

Natasha cried. She pulled a pillow to her face and cried. She felt the spots beneath her eyes turn wet, but she didn't move. She just cried. For the first time since Bruce left she genuinely cried. She was angry, she was pissed. She wanted Bruce to walk off the face of the earth and right into her room then kiss her senseless at the same time. She cried, because for the first time in her life; she had no idea what was happening, or what to do.

The silence following Natasha's exit was short, quickly being broken by Tony, who was overlooking the rather ugly scene that had just unfolded.

"Now aren't you glad we're not a group of hormonal woman?"

Bruce didn't speak, but looked off dejectedly in the direction Natasha had taken off. Her words a turned him cold, he had half a mind to just pick up his bag and leave. He came back for her, why stay if she didn't even want him?

"She didn't mean it," Clint speaks up. "She's pissed, yeah. She doesn't mean it though."

"Just give her some space," Steve says, but his advice is shot down by Tony.

"No, go get her now, be a man!"

"Clinton, you know her the best, what should Bruce do?" says Thor, handing Bruce back his photo. It was a picture of Bruce with some sort of exotic bird on his head. It'd had it feet curled up into his hair and wings flapping wildly. Bruce's face was one of horror and surprise; it was a funny photo. He had been planning to use it as a little icebreaker, make Natasha laugh at his expense. As soon as she stalked off Bruce had crossed that plan off his list.

"Go talk to her, right now,Bruce." Clint said. "The longer she's alone, the longer she has to convince herself she doesn't need you in her life." Clint looks him right in the eye "She does need you, Bruce."

"Natasha?"

It was Bruce.

She was compelled to lie there and leave him on the other side of the door. But she didn't, she got up and opened it. Bruce stood there, his khaki pants rumpled and deep blue button up rolled up at the sleeves. Natasha loved it when he rolled up his sleeves.

"You're not allowed in," she snapped childishly. She stands up straight, an imposing figure next to Bruce's shame-struck form. Bruce noticed the tear streaks and didn't question her.

"I'm going to make you a promise." he says, moving closer and taking his hands from their pervious spot in his pockets. "I promise I will never leave again, I promise I will never hurt you. I will love you in the ways I was too scared to love you before. You can yell at me, swear, punch kick, beat me up. But I will love you and I will stay here as long as you want me to. I promise."

"You can promise all you want" the razor sharpness of her tone is back, and even with the tears still threatening to leak over, she's relentless. "But I don't believe you."

"I wouldn't expect you to." he says the door is slammed in his face. Bruce puts his hand on the door, willing it to turn into vapours, disappear and let him see Natasha. But the door remains solid.

How many hours had Natasha spent wishing he'd return? Wishing he'd say these things to her? Countless hours wishing for this to happen. But now, she was slamming the door in his face.

"I thought about you everyday." Bruce's voice is heard from the other side of the door. "Everyday. Your eyes, your lips, your laugh, the way you run, the way you hold you knife and fork. Every little detail ran across my mind all day, everyday. You were all I thought about. But then I thought about how I wanted you safe. I never wanted to hurt. So I stayed. Even though I wanted nothing more than to come back here." Natasha walks back to the door, but doesn't open it.

"So," she starts, "You're here begging for my forgiveness, when you don't even want to be here with me. That's some twisted logic Bruce!" she shouts the last part through the door and waits for an explanation. She hears a thump and the door shifts a little in her direction as Bruce lays his forehead against the cool wood.

"That came out wrong," he sighs to himself. "Natasha," his voice has taken on a pleading tone. "Please let me in and I'll explain."

Natasha moves and rests her right hand on the doorknob. It's just a simple twist of the wrist, he could walk in, explain, and then they'd kiss and make up. She could see the scene playing out in her head, like the final scene in a rom-com. They'd kiss and then you'd be certain they went on to live their own version of a happily ever after. Only, perhaps not, perhaps he left her again, perhaps one of them got bored, perhaps she decided it wasn't worth it.

Was it worth it? To be in love, but to always worry that you'd be hurt? To be worried that the next day they'd get up and leave you with a shattered heart? If she opened the door, she was saying yes, yes it was worth the risk. Could she do that? Would she be able to trust him again and expose herself like that?

Natasha knew the answer to that question.

Bruce walked back down to the now quiet kitchen.

Because Natasha hadn't opened the door.

* * *

**Poor Brucie! D: I hope I did crush any feels too badly!**


	6. Chapter 6

I don't own the Avengers

* * *

Bruce was in his room, on his floor. By himself. This was the floor that Tony had originally given him when the group had decided to move in on a semi- permanent basis. Looking around, he felt as if he had rewound his life, his bed was still unmade and a coffee mug still sat on his counter, the coffee grinds encrusted to the bottom.

Once he and Natasha had gotten to the point in their relationship where he was constantly staying on her floor at night, his floor became vastly unused. More for privacy reasons than anything else. Bruce's floor being the closest to the ground, there were more people going through on a regular basis. Hers was higher up, more secluded. Natasha and Bruce preferred that, both being naturally secretive people.

Which was why, Bruce had treasured the fact that she'd trusted him enough to let him share her space. Because without a doubt, in a short amount of time the space had become theirs, his sweaters, shirts, pants and socks taking up residence in her drawers, his toothbrush by hers. He saw the absolutely absurd amount of hair products that were kept in her shower. She hadn't resented him as one of her cupboards was slowly taken over by his collection of teas and coffee.

Said collection was now lying out on the counter by the coffee mug. Whoever had put it there obviously hasn't been to preoccupied with making sure they were really taken care of, though he didn't really blame them. He felt like throwing them across the room himself. Walking across the floor to his bedroom where all the clothes he'd left sat in two large laundry baskets to the side of the unmade bed. He picked up one and emptied it onto the floor at his feet. He grabbed the other and dumped it right on top. He bent down and started sifting through the items. Quickly he saw some things were missing, the only reason he cared was because they were the clothes Natasha had bought or picked out for him. He had no doubt she had been the ones to put his clothes back down here and out of her space, but she wasn't going to let him keep any relic of her affection. Even if said relic was a sock.

I'm out of your life, she was saying. Stay out of mine. Bruce stood up, bringing both hands up to cover his face. He exhaled loudly, trying to take it all in. Over, all over. You screwed up, Banner. You screwed up the most important thing in your life. Bruce felt a single tear squeeze through his closed eyelids. He knew more could follow, but he took his hands away from his face and opened his eyes.

Well, he thought looking down to his pile of clothes, get on with it. She's not pining for you. Get on with your life Banner.

After many hours of negative self-talk and a platoon of guilt Bruce found he couldn't sleep. Instead of staying in his bed- where the empty spot beside him constantly mocked him-he moved out to the small balcony attached to his room. It was almost the middle of January, he'd missed Christmas. And New Years as well. Would it have turned out different if he'd returned sooner? Would she have forgiven him? Would they be sleeping side by side? Bruce didn't know, he wanted to know. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to make her forgive him, anything at all. He would settle for her to just be happy he was back and not acting as if he were the bane of her existence. He wrapped his fingers around the iron railing, the cold metal sending a shock through his body. But he kept his hands there. Physical pain was easier to deal with then his guilt.

Natasha was still awake, she didn't feel tired. She didn't feel anything; she was numb. As if all the raw emotion that had been coursing through her system earlier had fried her nerves, now she felt nothing. Like she was just floating, like she had no purpose here. Natasha thought about what she would do now that she was just Natasha. She was an assassin, a soldier. She got a mark, found her mark, disposed of the mark. Repeat until retirement or death. The only harm that could come to her was physical. Physical scars were easier to forget about, easier to live with. She'd just be. There was nothing emotional to throw into the mix. She tried to convince herself that she was happy with that. She tried to convince herself that: when she refused to open the door it had been what was right for her. But as she turned over again to see the empty expanse of the bed, she felt a twinge of regret. The more she thought, the more she regretted shutting the door in Bruce's face. Had she the ability to travel back only a few hours, feeling as she did now, she would open the door. Without a second thought.

A half hour later, Bruce is still out on the cold balcony, hands risking frostbite. He's been watching the tiny flashing lights move across the city. It's a nice little metaphor Bruce is witnessing: life's going to continue moving; whether your in the mood for it or not.

"You'd better not throw yourself over." a voice behind him makes him jump. "I'd miss you too much. And I'd regret what my last words to you were."

He turns, standing in the doorway is Natasha, silhouetted by the warm orange light coming from the room. She wears only a loose T-shirt and shorts. The mild wind blows at the T-shirt, occasionally showing a sliver of skin.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks her,

"I have a cold heart." she replies with a shrug, one corner of her mouth turning up. "You can come in here if you'd like."

"Your heart isn't cold." he walks forward, expecting her to back away, but she doesn't. She stays right where she is until he's so close she needs to look up to see him. He can see the gears working in her head, the way her eyes move across his face, judging every little pore . He can see that inside her head, she's having that final debate with herself. She blinks once, slowly, banishing the interior monologue from her head.

"I'm not sorry about what I said. I'm not sorry about what I did." she says quietly.

"I deserved it," he mumbles, ever-so-slightly touching her hand to see how she'll react to the contact. She doesn't respond to it, but she doesn't move away either. Bruce marks that as a point in his favour.

"You did deserve it." a little sharpness clear in her tone. "But I'm very sorry I didn't listen to what you had to say. I know you meant every word. But I wasn't ready to hear them yet." she moves her fingers to intertwine with Bruce's.

"Are you ready to hear them now?" Bruce asks, his hands rejoicing in the warmth coming from Natasha's palms. Bruce lets out a breath he didn't even think he had been holding. He'd hoped that Natasha would forgive him, but he hadn't actually believed it would ever happen. He thought he'd lost his chance, he had her once, lost her he hadn't thought he'd ever get her back.

"I don't know if my cold heart can take it." Bruce moves his hands up to cup her rosy face . The feeling of her soft skin not even comparing to his memories and fantasies. This was what he'd wanted to do the moment he left. Come right back to her and hold her close, memorize ever line, curve and scar on her body.

"You don't have a cold heart." He insists again.

"Prove it." her voice wavers as she gives a little shiver. Both from a gust of cold wind and finally feeling Bruce hold her.

"How would you like me to do that?" he smiles slightly, assuming he knows her well enough to know whats coming next.

"Kiss me."

* * *

So that's all folks!

Bonus! the song i used for inspiration was "its all coming back to me now' by celine dion. I absolutely love it!

Thank you all for reading!


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